Prometheus
by Idonquixote
Summary: For the boy, he would be Apollo. For him, he would be Hades. For him, he would be Dionysus. For him, he would be Demeter. "But you were never any of those things." "You are Prometheus." Character deaths. Implied SebaCiel and CielLizzie


**Okay, I know I should focus on HTTYD (which I highly suggest reading for the lulz after reading this because you're going to need lots of lulz afterwards) instead of oneshots but I NEEDED to write this. I so did. **

**So here it is, the first completed Kuroshitsuji tragedy I've written. Nothing too "bad" here but just in case, some warnings for major character death, downer ending, and implied minor character death. I don't really ship SebaCiel but you can take this fic that way if you want. Contains CielLizzie and slightly implied SebaCiel.**

**Also contains Greek myth allusions for your entertainment.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji**

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><p>Ciel Phantomhive had always regarded Greek myths as just that: myths. They were nothing more than dim relics of the past, of a civilization long gone and fallen. A cruel smile tugged at his mouth as pale fingers traced the broken vase. Black and red figures stared back at him, emotionless and suspended, forever stuck in a neverending moment of bliss and pain.<p>

The boy closed one eye, followed by the other. It was something he hadn't done since the years before his tenth birthday. And he imagined, he imagined that world of nymphs and fawns. Perhaps those stories had not been as foolish as he thought- the Greek gods were terrible gods who did nothing but tamper with lives. And while others broke, they danced and laughed.

"Sebastian, tell me what you think."

_"Is that an order, my lord?"_

"Yes," he whispered, "yes."

His father had been a proud man. He too would have grown into a proud man. Greek tragedies thrived on flaws of pride. For what man would be foolish enough to go against fate? To go against the gods?

_"I think the young master would have enjoyed Apollo's lyre."_

"You would be my Apollo?"

Ciel pressed one finger against the piece's jagged edge. He let the blood drip on the tiled floor, drip, drip, drip. _Tap, tap, tap_. He had never been particularly enthused by the violin. It had been his grandfather's hobby. It had been his father's pasttime. But it would not be an overstatement to say that the young earl was a master at stringed instruments.

His butler had taught him. _"Yes, my lord."_

"I do not believe I've ever complimented you on it, Sebastian. You are devilishly good at the violin."

He could already hear the sound of fiddle against string enter his ears. Soothing and loud, soft and scratchy. It entered a climax and fell back down, dimly, softly, just as Ciel had remembered. Elizabeth's hands clapsed in his, the two waltzing in the wake of that tune. It had been angelic, it had been demonic, it had been absolutely divine. _Oh, Lizzie, dear Lizzie._

"You are a poet, Sebastian."

_"Ah, but the young master does not like my poems."_

"Too classical for my taste. I've always fancied the contemporary arts more."

His demon could write flawless Latin. He could speak it perfectly, almost as if it had been his mother tongue. But Ciel knew the language of the holy and unholy alike was something forever lost to man. There was something poetic about his butler's conduct, every movement timed, every word spoken with just enough flare, every action symbolic. Had Ciel Phantomhive been an artist, he would have tried to capture that essence. He would have tried to use a brush, to use clay, to use words to trap Sebastian Michaelis.

But he was a businessman and a detective. There was no time for muses.

"Besides, I've never had much need for the arts."

Mighty Zeus was not immune to men's carnal pleasures. Ciel scoffed in amusement- how many women had Zeus taken and abandoned, countless, yes, countless. Such behavior was more befitting for a a devil than a god. The irony of Greek myths.

"How many women have you taken, Sebastian?"

_He would have chuckled. "Why such an intimate question?"_

"How many men?"

_"Are you that curious, young master?"_

Sebastian's methods of interrogation were not the most poetic nor the most elegant. In a sense, they were crude, almost primitive, vile, and base. Ironic for one who seemed to be so sophisticated. No, that would not be fair- the butler was sophisticated, and Sebastian had never been just a butler. Those had just been pretty lies the boy had finally learned to see through.

"You would be my Zeus if need arise."

_"But of course, my lord."_

"Who are you, Sebastian? In all these myths, which one are you?"

He stuck the finger in his mouth. The taste of iron, dirt, and dust. He knew what Sebastian would have said.

_"To answer honestly, young master, Hades, the lord of the dead."_

Hades, terrible and just, gloomy and unwelcome in bright Olympus and vulnerable earth. Ciel Phantomhive, ever since his tenth birthday, had always fancied himself as a Persephone of sorts. Taken away from the land of sweetness and bright youth, forced by the side of the dark lord.

"The boy who was taken. And the demon that bound him."

He said it melancholically. Because he was wrong. He had never been Persephone. Elizabeth, dear, sweet Lizzie was the true queen of the dead. She was the fruit of joy, the one that kept spring and summer alive. No, Ciel Phantomhive was Hades. He could have sent her away, broken their engagement, kept her far far away from the watchdog's life, from the gloom of the underworld.

But he had been selfish.

"I wanted her light," he mused, "dear, dear Lizzie. How I've wronged you."

Because Elizabeth Middleford had died the day her cousin disappeared. They had both died that day. She died the day he returned. And she would continue dying until the day he took his final breath.

"Sebastian, would you like to know what I fancy you as?"

_"And what pray tell, is that, young master?"_

"You had been my Apollo, my Zeus, my Hades," the earl answered crisply, "you were even my Demeter. You brought life back to the dead manor, you brought taste back into my food, and ironically, you even brought sense back into my soul."

Ciel placed his creamy cheek against the stone wall, adorned with portraits and paralyzed stories. "You were Dionysus too. You tricked me with benevolent wine and false festivity."

_"Speaking quite elegantly, aren't you, my lord?"_

"Humph. I can speak whichever way I want to. Sometimes speaking artfully is a neccesity."

Sebastian had the effect of alcohol. False illusions he had created and lie upon lie he crafted. And it had all made the earl happy. Because there were several brief instances where he almost believed the demon cared, where he almost believed Ciel Phantomhive still had a soul, where he almost believed something once lost really could be returned. Ah, the blessing and damnation of great Bacchus.

"But now I understand, Sebastian."

Ciel left the wall and circled the broken vase. His blood dripped into the cracks of the tiles, the chips in the wall. _"Understand what, young master?"_ "Oh, you'd love to know, demon." He fell to his knees. The ancient temple shook with his withered soul. He could feel his very being fade and return.

Greek mythology made sense in the end. In the end, Ciel realized that it made sense for there to be no good and evil among the divine. There were no demons, no angels. Only the cunning, the bored, the tricky, the wrathful, and the victims.

"You were never any of those things. You were never Apollo nor Zeus nor Demeter nor Hades nor Dionysus."

Sebastian did not stir. The dim light entering through the cracks of the ceiling fell on him in soft rays, making the tailcoat lighter than it was. Ciel placed his head over the demon's chest. It did not rise.

"You are Prometheus," he said softly.

Their blood mixed. The crimson in his butler's side pooled and receded. Oh, daring Prometheus who thought to deceive his lords. In the end, he had failed, forever damned and tormented.

"And I am... I am human."

Ciel Phantomhive had always regarded Prometheus as a fool, one who stood alone in a losing battle. But Sebastian had him deceived to the very end- he was never one of the Olympians. He had been the one to steal fire, the one to dare to trick the devil. But the battle was over.

Ciel brushed the disheveled locks away from his butler's shut eyes, tracing the dark blood on the false porcelain face. And all for what?

"For me, demon?"

The boy stood up slowly, modestly, humbly, a mere shell of the proud earl. He turned away from the torn, gashed body as their shadows intersected.

"You should have known man is not worth saving."

_Was it worth this much pain, Sebastian?_ The body was starved, battered, scarred, torn, ripped, healed, and wounded anew again and again. It was ironic, poetic, laughable, almost beautiful in its suffering.

Love was a strong word. It contained too much emotion and conveyed far too much happiness. And in the end it was just right. For Rachel Durless had loved Ciel Phantomhive and Ciel Phantomhive had loved Elizabeth Middleford and in the end, Sebastian Michaelis had loved Ciel Phantomhive.

_"Yes, my lord."_

"I want our tale remembered. Forever suspended in this world of cracked paintings and decay," he said quietly, not loud enough to be a whisper, almost a sigh of an impossible desire.

And Ciel Phantomhive fell without a sound. The blood in his torso poured and mingled with the stream from his ringless hand.

The vase rolled and shattered.

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><p><em>"I'm sorry, young master."<em>

_"There's no need, Sebastian, ah, no need at all."_

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><p><strong>So how was it? Please review! I really hope everyone was kept in character.<strong>

**And I actually feel pretty angsty now myself... ugh, need to write something brighter soon.**


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